Irreversible
by dormideira
Summary: After the Lord's fall, Bellatrix can't be found. The one person who might help finding her whereabouts is a stranger with ambiguous origin, character and intentions, a challenge which Hermione is fated to face herself. OC, AU, graphic violence, sex and abuse. Respectful comments are very welcome. Probably no BL/HG, sorry.
1. Origins, part 1

- What do you want?

The Master's voice echoed through the large wooden room he was sitting at.

- My Lord, we have captured one of Dumbledore's.

- Is it really? - He finally turned his head around to glare at the kneeling, desperate Bellatrix. She panted. He merely stared. - Bring it to me.

She quickly got up and paced up to a dark, old-looking, mahogany door. It opened quietly and shut with a slam. Before long, from the door erupted Bellatrix in her long dark gown carrying a lifeless body with the help of her wand, and Wormtail, dragging behind. As she crossed the room, the Death Eaters followed her with cold eyes, possibly filled with envy, Bellatrix thought. The Lord got up from his leather-covered chair, and took a few steps towards whatever was hidden under that large pile of clothes. He moved his wand quickly, and the being rolled up in the air with unfolding sheets. It fell with a thud.

- And where was it?

- Actually, it was searching for us. - Wormtail interfered from behind Bellatrix.

- A simple traitor - The Dark Lord said with a pause - or a possible informant?

Silence reigned for a few moments.

- We believed you would want to see for yourself, my Lord. - Wormtail said in a dying voice.

- How conveniently you display your naïvety. - the Dark Lord looked at his servant in the eyes. - I must deal with you later. Was it you who caught it?

- M-my Lord, I helped Lestrange as she seemed to struggle with it.

Bellatrix blew undisguisedly.

- I had it under control until he came over, Master, pretending to be of any use. - Bellatrix spat without looking at Wormtail directly.

- Quiet, or take your business outside.

Both of them shut up.

The body was now paralyzed, probably not due to magic. All of them could feel the tension building up as the Dark Lord crept closer.

He shook his wand in a large movement and made it get up even without balance. The being visibly tried to catch its own breath.

- This beast has traces of half-breeding. It is possible it belonged to old Dumbledore after all.

Some of the Death Eaters chuckled. The Lord lowered his wand for a few moments, and let the body fall again. It moved a little sideways, trying to put itself together, when the Dark Lord inspired and it turned to stare at him, startled.

- Legilimens!

The room went very quiet. It was possible to hear the Eaters breathing or whispering. All they could hear were uneasy grunts and uneven breaths. Its eyes were still locked on their Master's. Some Death Eaters moved uncomfortably, and Rodolphus leaned a bit forward, still on his knees. Then it all went off, the horrified creature fell unconscious, and they looked at the Dark Lord expectantly.

- No use. Put it in a corner somewhere, Yaxley, estupefied and tightly bound. You may dispose of it later as you wish, Lestrange.

The woman inflated her chest with success, nearly ignoring her husband, who also looked particularly pleased with himself.

Yaxley got up from the formation all other Death Eaters were in, and headed towards the big door, the body eerily following him in the air.

After the bang of the door echoed behind him, he started to mumble to himself how Lestrange hadn't done anything special.

Yaxley pulled his wand from his pocket, and quickly gagged and bound the prisoner nicely in leather straps, fastened on its back, anxious to return into the room. He reminded himself to ask Rodolphus to allow him to have a little fun with it, and limped all the way to his place again, listening with moderate attention.

Rodolphus got ahead of Bellatrix and pulled the creature by its long, dark hair, making it scream and struggle more against its bounds. He offered his other hand to Bellatrix. She wanted to spit on it and disparate her own way; if only people weren't staring. But they were. They always were.

Her husband had claimed her prize his. She knew every single possession belonged to both of them, but Rodolphus, a little boy when it came to this torn rose of a wife he had, would have it his way and his only.

She felt anger sparkle. She enjoyed it for a second before putting her pale hand on top of his.


	2. Origins, part 2

Anger didn't go far in this case. To have a divorced woman in the family was unacceptable. Nothing similar had ever taken place among the Black, and as much as she detested those traditions that stopped her from growing, her greed was stronger, and she felt like she had do cling to Rodolphus's powers and stick with him.

Finally, she knew nothing on the Dark Lord's position regarding those matters. Blood was to stay pure and Rodolphus's was not to be shed. She longed for a suggestion by her admired Master, but this was a simple household discussion, his mind had other more urgent problems to attend.

She knew better. She knew so much better than cooking, than looking after children. She was not like Narcissa, who grew out to look beautiful and love her son. Bellatrix would never be a loving mother, or a mother at all. This angered Rodolphus beyond any other particular issue, and had Bellatrix been frail, it would certainly be her favourite explanation why he cheated on her so often, and so openly. Deep down, he did want children, at least an heir. But he knew Bellatrix would never provide it. How would her womb carry a helpless, boneless child? She, set out to conquer? She took another sip of the glass of wine Rodolphus had offered.

Perhaps if he died...

Covering it up amidst a war couldn't be so difficult. Besides, she often wondered how much she being married to Rodolphus wasn't in fact blocking out a field of vast opportunities. Her own path. Rodolphus was really tricky to drag along the track she had set out to trail, and for most parts, an actual obstacle. It would be for her cause, and consequently for the Lord's cause, empowering him with much more than pawns - a Queen herself.

Perhaps if he got sick...

Oh, but it would be so much easier to scythe him on a battlefield. Leaving him accidentally with more foes than allies was quite simple.

She took another sip and realised he was still in the room.

- ... Yaxley asked me if he could have a little time alone with that thing, and I said-

- Darling?

- Yes?

- Haven't you wondered if its breed is capable of bearing a child?

- If it is, then I'm not really sure what bothers you. The Lord probably knows this already, and has given it to me so that I could use it as a surrogate womb.

Bellatrix gathered strength to smile. It nearly cracked her face.

- As much as I trust the Lord's capacities, I don't believe a wizard's ever accomplished such a quick analysis of a half-bred.

- What are you suggesting?

- Merely that the thing was meant to be disposed of, and perhaps that - she paused for a sip - was our Lord's true intention.

Rodolphus leered her angrily.

- It was our Lord's prize to me, and I will keep it for as long as I wish.

- I think you meant it was our Lord's prize to _us_, dear. - Bellatrix gave him that same fake smile and spoke with a screeching voice again. - And I will make sure to ask his thoughts on this matter.

- Take it to the Lord, he probably has nothing else to worry about!

- Surely you wouldn't want an atrocity such as a half-human heir?

- A half-human heir is still better than NO heir!

Rodolphus banged his fist on the table. Bellatrix opened her mouth in hatred, how quickly it would rail him!, ready to force that whining baby back into his place, while he sighed heavily, emptied his glass and got up, staring at her.

- I'm going to the cellar. You keep it clean and fed, 'cause THAT - he pointed his index finger right to Bellatrix's face - is your real job.

Clean and fed, he said. Yet another child to look after.

She postponed the task for as many days as she could. Rather, left the idea for a background clockwork machinery of her brain to work. So at some point it would flourish. It had to flourish. I'd like to say Bellatrix resisted.

She and Rodolphus hadn't talked to each other since their short discussion, and as much as Death Eaters guests kept going downstairs to celebrate some victory by tasting Rodolphus's "vin spumus", as he liked to call it, she refused to care for his pet.

Their house-elf, Toothless, had serious problems deciding to which master he would obey, as their orders confused him, being means of indirect discussions, by the end of which Bellatrix would order it to get out and she and Rodolphus were left in their aggressive silence.

The Death Eaters' wives, unlike Bellatrix, simply sat quietly sipping tea at their own homes, ignorant of everything. The only one who had to endure those useless shoving-at-her-face displays of manly pride was her, and it would never disturb her to the least, had she not been the only one, or so impossibly unable to fight back.

Luckily, or sadly, this subject of cheating never fell on her meek social circle, which was forced upon her by Narcissa, mostly of Death Eaters' wives. But it did mean meeting up with Narcissa more rarely than ever, and only when necessary she spoke to her, out of some grudge for punishing her, the older sister, with pathetic household talks. So it dawned as boredom consuming.

As much as she would love to be of her Lord's service, it didn't soothe it, either, to be sent out in the open along with that scum of Snatchers that thought a bag of gold would carry them swiftly to glory. Not she. Not Bellatrix.

She wrote softly on the letter paper she had crumpled a while before, and then uncrumpled, for ideas were coming all back. Bellatrix... Black...

Slow death is always trickier to blame on the other side, she thought. It gave people the time to think.

Bella... trix... Black...

Oh, the tragedy. The quill ran scratching the paper, making the drops of black ink stretch along the pale surface. She heard that sound the quill made when marking the paper forever.

Bella... trix...

Inch by inch thoughts formed groups of letters, gathered up and then rearranged. It passed, and came back. She would carry on, and the shine of fresh ink would smile at her. The curves beckoned.

It was a brilliant idea since Rodolphus was not around. He had left for some errand Toothless wouldn't speak of, even under the Cruciatus curse. Bellatrix let it go. She couldn't care less; it was rather convenient for what she had in mind, her husband going away and losing interest in his latest novelty. Probably because of another woman, yet younger than the one before. How old was their pet? Eighteen? And by now misery and pain must have sucked out the air between that forsaken being and death. It thrilled Bellatrix to imagine the brutal traces of abuse under the almost virgin white skin it hid in. What could be left of it?

She remembered why she had desired it in the first place.

She dragged herself through her memory instants before, the strength of her fingers digging the quill deep down the paper like nails tearing the surface of a skin. Like a sacrifice, it came almost willingly to the verge of the war front. Did the little white fluffy lamb have fantasies with the dark side?

She nearly choked in excitement. It was time to act.

She held herself together, even though her black heart rang in her ear. She walked slowly to the back of the house, through the dining-room and the kitchen, finally to stand before the dark cellar door. She giggled. It had been so long since she last felt these rushes of adrenaline.


	3. Origins, part 3

She tried to recall the beginning of this and bring it to order. How long had she been there? Hours, days? But her mind was still shuffled from the shakes.

Was he there? Was there anyone? She managed finally to sit against a stone wall, an ache seemed to pierce her right lung. Another pain came from within, but she had to ignore it. Her thirst made it difficult to swallow. She opened her eyes and glared deeply into darkness. Where were the wooden chairs? Where was the wine? Maybe they had kicked her into the cage again. If she put her thoughts in order, what good would it be? As Lestrange never tired of reminding her, no one was coming for her, no one missed her. She was left to rot.

To kindle hope was a risk, she thought. It would draw too much attention. These days in hell could only end if she took herself apart from her body. This was the only way to keep her consciousness safe. But what nonsense she thought! She was already beyond sanity. Her murmurs without meaning were there to prove it, twisting between two languages, no longer her own voice, as was the major solitude that made her head waver. Lestrange had successfully made her nothing.

Yet she was feeling. It was best to die, but on the brink of salvation he would stop, laugh, and watch her shakes. The mere idea of his rugged voice, his strange voice that ordered her around, in a brutal, spit-out language, it threw shivers down her spine.

Still, she was beginning to obey. Where did this damned survival instinct come from? Humiliation was sinking into her soul. The filth and hunger were there to keep the drumming going, her heart just wouldn't stop. But there it was: she half-remembered who she was. If it did, so much for the worse. She had to figure out a way to stop her mind from going on, before they killed her and kept her body as a meat puppet. She guessed the pain would carry on with her body, and some part of her mind. She really knew nothing, or little more than what she suffered at that moment.

Never would she have imagined that there were people who could be more cruel than Hollowov.

* * *

Bellatrix slowly put one foot before the other in every creaky wooden step, carefully listening to the whimpering darkness that went suddenly quiet. Aware she had drawn attention, Bellatrix carried on with the same calm, sadistic pace, because she knew that, to every sound she made, a bit of panic got stuck into her prey's chest and never got back to surface.

If she had chosen to make up an excuse at that very instant for breaking into her husband's cellar, she could have. For being in the stairs. If she had chosen to think this through on that moment, she would have managed. Instead, that tall, exotic woman chose not to, for the same reason she never let shed a light on her path down the wooden stairs. Her own wandering thoughts led the way, tracing the walls and feeling for the steps. She heaved and never looked back. Bellatrix's own heart was swollen with anticipation for the misdeed she saw unwind before her eyes. And there she came, with long pauses.

Her bare feet touched the cold stone ground. She was still wearing her night-gown and never put anything on her feet. Her hair was wildly messy - it didn't matter. Sight didn't matter. Other senses mattered. The sounds of the outside world were impossible to be heard, so all that was left was her victim's pounding heart - her favourite music. So Bellatrix lingered over the end of the stairs for a moment.

She knew what she was staring at, but then she didn't. Sounds of breathlessness came from beyond the shelves. She then noticed a weak red light refracted through a few bottles. Bellatrix grinned in the dark, rewarded for coming after her husband's toy. She knew better. He never would have stayed in control if it wasn't for her. She was the brains he lacked. And now her mind was about to outwit the trick his name had played on her.

On the other side of the cellar there was no sign of resistance - there was no sign of wild reactions. Only the trembling red eyes, asking her to draw ever closer. Bellatrix instinctively thought of going back as she stayed still. The sound of Bellatrix's sigh made the creature's eyes widen even more. She regained confidence. Even having no idea of her surroundings, certainty swept the devil's path clear. She walked with heavy feet, so full of lust the dark cellar seemed to belong to her.

Finally, she felt for the cage and touched with her wand a small, horizontal lock. The opening cried out, as red darting eyes moved from where the sound came to Bellatrix, until she crouched before it and grinned as she had never grinned before.

Time stopped. They looked at each other and then into each other, as light gave no choice - the creature attempted to grasp a calm mind that slipped quickly through what she was living; Bellatrix continued to grin and forced it to stay down as she grabbed the torn cloth it wore and dragged it out of its cage, crawling. It just stood there, waiting, she could feel it. She palmed her right hand on its back and forced its body onto the floor. Then she grabbed its shoulders with violence and turned its body around on the floor.

Bellatrix licked her lips and slowly slid her wand on what she thought was the being's chest. It wavered with its eyes closed. As one's breathing shortened, the other's came in and out with long pauses. It was still dark. Bellatrix didn't want displays of power, she wanted the thing to feel it. So she grazed her hand through the height of its stomach as it let out a surprised cry, she couldn't stop smiling.

She got up and took a few steps back. The red darting eyes paired up with a mouth that gaped open, she knew, for the thing's breath now loudly came in tides. She pointed her wand at it and said "Crucio!".

It moaned beautifully. Cries came, but it still struggled, buffing loud screams between its quick grunts and gasps. Bellatrix raised her wand and stayed still for a moment. Then she kneeled beside the sobs and started to grope for the thing's whole body. Its first reaction was to push her arm away, but it was too weak to really put up a fight. So she had a chance to feel its stiff, cold limbs, its heaving chest, and even though she could nearly grab every rib, its breasts felt nicer than its thighs. Sweat appeared only on its forehead, Bellatrix rubbed its face softly. Its long hair had knots impossible to untie. The skin felt rough and dirty, but Bellatrix insisted upon digging her nose into its neck, inhaling closely as she opened its mouth and tried to feel its fangs. It drew blood instantly and under all that filth, its skin smelled of an impossibly beckoning scent, somewhere between bitterness and thirst.

She was pleased, though it was time Rodolphus fed and bathed it. She got up and tried to regain control, think for a moment. The thing let long breaths come out and finally opened its eyes from where it lay to stare deeply into Bellatrix. It was impressive how its red eyes simultaneously asked questions and practically tugged Belatrix's throat. And then she felt the urge to laugh hysterically at how brilliant she was to have come. There was no scheme but the one that unveiled itself instantly.

- You are mine now.

And then she left.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Oh, no, not another vampire story!_

_Sorry. I could swear it came before the vampire frenzy, but then again vampire frenzy always existed._

_Also FanFiction did something with the docs I'd already uploaded and I sort of had to rewrite them. Previous chapters have also been rerererevised. _

_As the first chapter used to say, this is my first story to be published, thanks for reading, useful critics are very welcome, etc._


End file.
